


Apres Moi, Le Deluge

by Ragazza_Guasto



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Avenger Antics, Blow Jobs, Buried Feelings, Fighting, First Kiss, First Time, Humor, Laser Tag, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Masturbation, Nat is secretly running the show, POV Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-12 10:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2106150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragazza_Guasto/pseuds/Ragazza_Guasto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once The Soldier was freed from his Hydra handlers, he took his time gaining traction in the 21st century. But now he wants some real answers about his past, specifically he wants answers from Captain Rogers.  His plan to infiltrate Stark Tower and use Rogers allies against him doesn't go exactly as planned. Instead, he finds himself enveloped into the fold of the Avengers like an old friend. But Natasha's going to put him through the ringer before she'll let him within a hundred feet of Captain America again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apres Moi, Le Deluge

**Author's Note:**

> Apres Moi, Le Deluge- After me comes the flood.
> 
> This is story takes place after Captain America: The Winter Soldier, during which Bucky has wandered free for a year. He's discovered the only thing he cares about is knowing what Captain Rogers is to him. Nat's gonna put him through hell before she gives him her stamp of approval. This story came close to becoming a Bucky/Natasha story, so hopefully the sexual tension there doesn't bother anyone. But fear not, Steve is his one and only.
> 
> Every bit of love and thanks to my accidental, one and only, Beta extraordinaire [Pringles](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision) for her insight and her eagle eye.  
> I'll meet you in Stark Town. ;)

There was always a weak spot, a point of entry no one thought to protect, and the Soldier had no qualms about exploiting them, no matter how cowardly it might seem. Originally he'd made the mistake of thinking Stark Tower’s weakness was Pepper Potts - and to an extent, that was true. Just not in the way he originally thought.

 

_Four weeks prior…_

 

“My, my. You clean up nice,” the stylist commented. The Soldier turned toward the mirror and took a short, apathetic glance at the suit she’d picked out. It fit and his movements weren’t terribly restricted; it would do for a day. He gave her a nod of acquiescence and turned back to the changing room. Tomorrow he’d be expected to look like a journalist, a regular civilian, and if previous experience with scaring small children was anything to go by, he’d not succeed at that if he walked into Stark Tower looking like he did today.

“I need a haircut,” he gruffly announced once back in his black fatigues.

Her voice came over the top of the stall, “Certainly, sir. I’ll call down to June, she’ll be up here in a jiffy. We’ll set you up with a shave too, I think.”

“Fine,” he muttered as he exited the stall.

June turned out to be a middle aged mother of four, whose only daughter was pregnant with her first child. June was quite talkative, with no qualms about carrying the brunt of the conversation by herself. The Soldier quietly watched as she cut and buzzed his hair down to a more manageable length. She left it longer on top, smoothed it back from his face with some form of pomade.   

“There,” she grinned, “isn’t that better? Now you can see where you’re going.” She giggled at her own joke as she pulled the cape from around him and brushed the hair from his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he muttered.

“Now come over here to the sink and we’ll get you shaved.”

The shave was actually pleasant, he had to admit, as it’d been weeks since his last and it was nice to feel the cool air on his skin again.

“Oh, here, don’t forget your gel,” she rushed out before he could walk away. He took the canister and gave what he thought was a smile - but judging by her widened eyes, must have fallen short.

Payment was finalized, his bags handed over and then he was gone. All told, it had only taken two hours to become a functioning member of society. On the outside.

His walk back to the hotel was tediously uneventful, and he couldn’t help but notice how dull this mission was compared to others. At least, the ones he could remember, anyway. Some, he wished he had forgotten, so maybe dull was good. He should be happy with dull.

The woman at the front desk did a double take as he walked through the brightly-lit lobby.

 _I clean up nice_ , he thought with an internal smirk. The thought was strange but he was becoming used to them popping up lately.

The bags were haphazardly thrown into the corner of his room and he immediately went to the computer he’d ‘acquired’ from the drug dealer that had given him trouble earlier in the week, also snagging a Coke from the minibar as he passed. The Stark public events page hadn’t changed. It still read ‘Tour of Stark Tower’s newest floors open to Media’, dated for tomorrow at five in the afternoon. One Ken Hadley of Cleveland’s _The Plain Dealer_ was scheduled to attend - the same Ken Hadley who was currently residing in the room next to his. That fact wasn’t an accident. He closed the laptop and lay back against the headboard, sipping his Coke, lost in thought. Tomorrow would be the beginning of his long-awaited plan to interrogate Captain America. He refused to let anything stop him.

                                                                                                         ~*~

The next day he stood outside the journalist’s door and knocked. “Mr. Hadley?” He knocked again.

“Damn it,” he heard muttered from the other side of the door. It opened impatiently. “Yeah?”

“I’m here from Stark Industries, sir. Your car is waiting.”

Ken Hadley frowned. “What car? I wasn’t told there would be a pickup service.” He rushed to finish his tie and turned away to walk back inside, without looking to see if the man in the doorway followed.

“Yes, sir. My name is James, I’m here to accompany you to the Tower,” he explained to the idiot. The man didn’t even have the sense to turn around when allowing a stranger into the room; he was practically begging for the needle that found itself buried in his shoulder.

Ken screeched hysterically behind the Soldier’s hand as he thrashed. He counted to twenty three before the man in his grasp finally settled and he was able to drag him to the bed. He waited another beat as the man writhed around on top of the covers, until he quieted. The drug dealer had promised, to use the modern colloquialism, a ‘fucking fantastic trip down the K hole’, and if this was what that looked like, he’d take it. As long as the guy stayed in his room. He snapped up the press badge from the dresser, clipped it to his lapel, and watched Ken in the mirror as he continued to moan from the bed. When he glanced back at his reflection he noted that his hair had come loose from the gel and he smoothed it back with a gloved hand. The motion was a familiar one, as if his arm remembered doing it a thousand times before. It must be a remnant of Bucky Barnes because his muscle memory usually consisted of trigger pulling and knife throwing. He tried smiling at himself in the mirror before he left the room but it was easy to see why people shied away from him when he did. Best not to try that again. At the last minute he remembered to grab Hadley’s briefcase by the door.

Stark Tower, that vainglorious testament to one man’s ego, stood far and above the buildings around it.  It was enough to make a man roll his eyes. He managed not to as he looked back down at the sidewalk and pulled the fake reading glasses out of his jacket. He slid them up his nose and entered the lobby with a crowd of business people though the rotating glass doors, then waited casually in line for his turn to go through security. It wasn’t an issue getting through; he’d brought no weapons with him, as this was just a recon mission. The guard at the front desk informed him that the press tour would be taking place on the fortieth floor and that Pepper Potts herself would be there to greet them. The guards all seemed to have standard issue belts, complete with night sticks, pepper spray and walkie talkies strapped to their shoulders. The process for getting in was standard as well and he had to wonder how impenetrable Stark Tower really was. The ride up the elevator was short considering how high they were going, and he took a quick glance around to gauge how easy access to the shaft was from inside. Again, it looked fairly simple. He didn’t know if the ease in which he’d entered should be worrying or not.

The group was shown to the meeting room, where a few dozen had already gathered, some in groups of three or four, some standing lone by the windows or the coffee pots. He took position at the back of the room, his back to the wall, and waited.

True to the guards’ word, fifteen minutes later Pepper Potts walked into the room as if she owned it, which was accurate, and greeted everyone with a wide smile. She shook hands and kissed the air with several people and then made her way to the front of the room.

“Hello, everyone,” she greeted the room from the podium, “I assume I need no introduction.” A murmur of amusement rose and she smiled. The room found their seats and Pepper started her introduction.  He tuned out most of what she said; all that he concerned himself with was getting a guided tour of the facility and, should the opportunity present itself, time to slip off to do a little extra investigation. An important-looking woman in a lab coat walked in and Pepper introduced her as Ms. Beverly Murakami, the Head of Electrical Research and Development. Pepper wished everyone a pleasant tour, then left with a cheerful smile.

Ms. Murakami asked that everyone ready their tape recorders or notepads and then they set out for the bank of elevators. He followed behind, only belatedly remembering to check Hadley’s briefcase for a recorder. His cover depended on blending in, he should have thought to check for it sooner. The berating didn’t last long, though, as he was quickly distracted by the tour through the R & D department; the trip down to Tony’s masterpiece, the arc reactor; and every glimpse of the daily routine in Stark Tower. How easy they were making it for him to plan his infiltration. He was fairly baffled by his good luck.

When Ms. Murakami asked if anyone had any questions he used the distraction to slip to the back of the group, closer to the elevator doors, and subtly pushed the up button. When the group moved forward again he waited until the very last second before slipping seamlessly through the door just before it slid shut. He pressed the button for the hundred and fifteenth floor, the end of the business portion of the Tower, where Stark Industries ended and Tony’s private lair began. The car stopped at the eightieth floor and a woman got on. The Soldier slid the media badge off his jacket and stuffed it into his pocket as she leaned in to press the button for the eighty third floor. He nodded at her and she gave a wan smile but shuffled away as far as the space would allow. Smart woman. When she exited he took the few seconds that he was alone to glance at the exit hatch above his head. He’d liked to have investigated further but he needed to keep up the plausible deniability for as long as possible. If anyone caught him slinking around where he shouldn’t be he could claim he was simply investigating claims of fraud or some such nonsense. If he was found with his head in the elevator shaft, well, that was a bit more suspicious.  

The elevator suddenly ground to a halt at the hundred and third floor and he instinctually braced his left foot behind him and loosened his hands at his sides. The doors slid open with a pleasant ding to reveal Pepper Potts, already smiling congenially. He breathed a sigh of relief, expecting armed guards at the very least, until she spoke.

"Lost, Mr. Barnes?" She queried.

He opened his mouth to lie but the name shot through him like an arrow. Before he could even process where he'd gone wrong, Pepper lunged and wrapped a small hand around his throat. It would have been nothing to break her wrist; he reached up to do it when an impossible heat blossomed across his skin, from the point of contact to down his throat and into his chest. Every torture he'd sustained - every broken bone, gun shot, electrocution - none of it prepared him for the intense agony of her invisible fire. He cried out, a shameful whimper tailing off as he struggled in her grasp. She held him up with one arm, smile never wavering for an instant, as he kicked uselessly at the ground. The part of him that was still able to think around the pain questioned his current circumstances. Something must have shown on his face because she laughed quietly at him.

"You're wondering why I'm still able to do this when Tony supposedly cured me?"

His brow pulled tightly, partly in acknowledgment, partly in continued pain.

"Tony, you see, he is quite the genius, though you'll never hear me say it to his face. His head is the size of this building already, am I right?" She chuckled in camaraderie, as if she wasn’t simultaneously squeezing his throat shut and burning his flesh.

"Now, to the point. What are you doing here?"

He clutched at her arm, a feeble attempt to remind her that he was unable to speak.

"Oh," she laughed again, "sorry. Don't know my own strength." She let up until he could suck in a gasp of air. He calculated - space, his strength level, hers - and made a split-second decision to kick out at her midsection. It worked; she flew into the elevator door, arms out to brace herself, as he fell to the floor and clutched at his throat.

She tugged at the hem of her peach colored jacket and sniffed at the black smudge left behind from his shoe. "Cute."

He shuffled away, backed into the corner as she moved forward. He'd never encountered a woman so self-assured, so confident in her ability to defeat him. Scratch that, he had, just not one so hesitant to kill him outright. He hated this feeling in his gut, the shame of defeat, the begrudging respect he felt for her. He didn't want to acknowledge her at all, but he had to admit when he was bested in this case. His limbs felt like jelly, his chest felt like he had breathed flames directly into his lungs, he was weak as a kitten; right now, winning was clearly out of the picture.

Pepper looked down at him in quiet contemplation. He stared back, unable to do anything.

"Why are you here?"

He shook his head, still unable to speak and unwilling to do so even if he had been.

She frowned suddenly. She was so expressive, every emotion right there for the world to see. He wondered idly if she had always been thus or if becoming an unstoppable killing machine had made her careless. _She's attractive_ , a long buried part of himself whispered. Slowly, careful not to displace her skirt, she lowered herself to his level. She reached out and pulled the black frame glasses from his face. He reared back away from her; he’d forgotten he was even wearing them and was surprised to note that they hadn't fallen in the scuffle. Her fingers toyed with the earpiece, twisted them in her grip in thought, before she reached up and brushed the gelled bit of hair that had fallen into his eyes away from his brow. He tried not to flinch away from her hand as he eyeballed it warily.

"Friend or foe, Mr. Barnes? Tell me now, before Tony finds out you're here and takes the choice from us."

 _Us_ , he questioned with his eyes. What did she mean? He shook his head minutely.

"Are you looking for Captain Rogers?" She whispered softly.

He jolted as if shocked. The name sent his blood racing, and he did his best to keep still, keep the evidence off his face. It should have been easy, he was a highly trained assassin, it was his very nature to conceal emotion but judging by the look of pity she gave him, he'd failed. In a blind panic he tried to get past her, arms outstretched, scrambling for purchase on the wooden paneling of the elevator. She held him down with one hand to his shoulder, the metal and flesh side of his body, as he struggled to flee. It took two hands to pin him still but she managed to quiet him with a look.

"I know you're healing what I've done, and if I don't do it again you'll be fine within the hour. Don't make me do it again," she said slowly, a hint of menace, and then cocked an eyebrow, asking if he was done. He lowered his eyes in submission, but still he took stock of their positions, how he could easily move her out of the way if he needed to. "The doors are titanium reinforced. Unless you want to bust out the top of the elevator and crawl down a hundred and three floors I suggest you calm yourself and listen to my proposition." He nodded once. "Okay," she straightened his jacket and smoothed it back in place on his shoulders, "if you're looking for your friend, he's not here, but it wouldn't take much to find him. If you want we can contact him. Is that what you want?"

He stared at her, the subtle hints of continued pity making him angry, but he was ever the opportunist. His original plan had been to infiltrate Stark Tower, take stock of Captain Rogers’ allies, find weaknesses to exploit, use their vulnerability to force Rogers out into the open. But this… simply asking Ms. Pepper Potts to call him… it was expedient, he had to admit. He nodded slowly.

"Are you going to behave?"

Again he nodded.

"Good." She smiled and blew her hair out of her face with a huff of laughter. "Not so hard, was it?"

The Soldier tentatively smoothed two fingers over his singed neck with a scowl.

"Don't be a wuss," she teased and then punched him in the shoulder. She teetered on her heels for a second but quickly righted herself to standing position. Her hand came out in a gesture of help. He just barely hesitated before he took it and let her pull him up. Allying with this woman seemed the logical step in the moment, so he did. Time would tell if it was the right decision and he could always change his mind later.

"Jarvis?" She called out.

"Yes, Ms. Potts," a cool voice answered via the speakers of the elevator.

"Have Mr. Barnes taken off the watch list, if you would,” she winked at him, “and have a room made up on the hundred and sixteenth. He’ll be staying for a few days."

"Very good, Ms. Potts. Shall I alert Tony to the Soviet Assassin in his midst or would you like to do the honor?"

"Leave that to me, Jarvis. He does love surprises."

"That he does, ma'am," the disembodied voice agreed dryly.

"C'mon, I'll show you around while we're waiting for your room." The elevator rose to the hundred and fifteenth floor and spit them out in a spacious open floor plan apartment. Ms. Potts turned with a smile to make sure he was still following. "This is mine and Tony's place. Tony's workshop is downstairs," she pointed over to the staircase, "in case you can't find either of us, chances are that's where we're at. Drink?" She offered congenially. He stared at her for longer than was probably polite but he couldn't seem to wrap his mind around how incredibly stupid and/or naive she was being, just blatantly allowing him to roam around in her home. She set the glass decanter down with a click and turned fully towards him.

"Okay, I can see the wheels turning. Let me put this in terms you can understand. I can cook your brain inside your skull, as I’m sure you’re aware, therefore you pose no threat to me. Jarvis is currently monitoring your vitals."

"BP rate one twenty over eighty. Oxygen levels steady. Brain waves spiking but not dangerous."

"Thank you, Jarvis. You see, what that means is, if you decide to go homicidal mad man on us, we're gonna know about it." She smiled brightly. _Mistake, that,_ he thought. He was trained not to feel emotion, to conduct all manner of atrocities without breaking a sweat. If and when he decided to turn on them, they wouldn't see it coming, of that he was sure. "And if you do, Tony built this neat little device for when Dr. Banner comes to visit. Sort of a just-in-case protocol. It packs more of a punch than I do."

The Soldier cocked his head at that and spoke for the first time out of sheer curiosity. "Does it work on him? The Hulk?" He could still feel the sting in his throat from her burns but his voice remained steady.

Pepper laughed. "Oh, no. Not at all. To Tony's everlasting frustration, all it did was make Bruce sit up and pay attention. But it'll drop you like a hot brick," she stated with a point in his direction and then turned back to the bar. "Now, how ‘bout that drink?"

                                                                                                        ~*~

And that was how he came to stay in Stark Tower, not for a few days, as previously suggested, but three weeks. Contacting Captain Rogers turned out to be a lot harder than anyone had anticipated, or so everyone said. He decided to wait it out until such a time that it became clear they had no intention of calling Rogers.

Tony had begrudgingly allowed the Soldier to stay, in as much as Pepper telling Tony to shut his trap constituted 'allowed'.

"I don't like it. Get rid of it. If you wanted a pet you only had to ask. I'm partial to ferrets."

"He's not a pet, Tony, he's our guest and I expect you to treat him as such."

"Why's he gotta stay with us? The Hilton is just down the street, he could have stayed there until Cap comes to pick him up. Why's he gotta hang out where I sleep, huh?"

The Soldier calmly watched Tony's hands dance as he whined.

"Because we have more space than we know what to do with, that's why."

"Do you ever speak?" Tony addressed him directly. "It's like rooming with Ninja Helen Keller over here."

"You talk enough for the both of you, dear." Pepper walked over to the Soldier and pulled him along to his room at that point, Tony glaring all the while. "Ignore him, he watched Red Dawn one too many times as a kid."

"I was nineteen when Red Dawn came out," he bellowed as they walked away.

Pepper gave the Soldier an 'am I wrong?' face. He didn't want to admit he had lost the train of conversation at the Red Dawn reference so he gave a wan smile.

Pepper called Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton, much to the Soldier’s chagrin, to ascertain if they knew the Captain’s whereabouts. They didn’t, but they did decide to come to New York for a visit - an extended stay visit, apparently. The two spies took his appearance in stride for the most part, he and Natasha especially skirting each other casually, as if neither were aware of the other’s past misdeeds. As if they hadn't both tried to kill the other on several occasions. Something about Ms. Potts’ hospitality made everyone agree to an unspoken truce.  

It wasn't until the end of his first week, during which the Black Widow and Hawkeye came, that the Soldier decided to utilize Stark Tower’s air duct system to full advantage. He easily unscrewed the vent cover in his room and lifted up into the opening, all the while smirking at Tony's smug warning that he was to stay out of other peoples rooms lest Jarvis zap him. _Let the AI try it up here_ , he thought as he wiggled on his stomach toward the private gymnasium.

He stopped when the targets’ voices drifted up softly from below him, and turned to lay on his back as comfortably as he could get in the cramped space.

"That's not what I meant and you know it. I just find it strange that you're okay with this."

"What can I say? I'm a sucker for a tragic backstory." Natasha grunted as Clint threw a couple jabs her way.

"This guy is dangerous, Nat. I think it's nuts letting him stay here. How do we know he's not going to blow Cap's head clean off the moment he steps off the elevator?"

"He won't," she stated.

"You're sympathizing with Bucky Barnes, not the highly trained cyborg Hydra assassin who currently owns his body," Clint pointed out. The Soldier flinched but severed the tidal wave of emotion that threatened to overtake him. He heard several grunts and huffs before Natasha responded.

"I know a thing or two about Soviet brainwashing and I know that second chances aren't always forthcoming to those who've been dealt that hand. Until he gives me a reason to put him down, I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt."

"It's bad news, I'm telling ya."

"Come on, Clint. You think between me, you, Tony, Pepper, Jarvis, and all of Tony's staff we can't keep an eye on this guy? You not up to the challenge, old man?"

"Nice try. Goading me stopped working after the first time, Виксена. I know all your moves."

"Oh, yeah?"

Clint hit the mat with a grunt and a pitiful groan. Natasha snickered.

"I know most of your moves," he admitted. "Time out. Give the old man a break. Hand me the water bottle, would ya?"

She did and from the sound of it, they were sitting against the far wall now, enjoying the break from practice.

"I'll tell ya what I'm not looking forward to," Clint said after a beat. "Tony and Cap flirting with each other. It's creepy."

The Soldier felt a coldness seize his chest, a cousin to raw unbridled panic, but like nothing he'd felt before. He tried to clear it away and focus on what they were saying below him but a part of his focus was still on the pounding of his pulse in his ears. Disengage. This information is vital.

"I think it's cute. He's just not used to bottling all that flirtatious nature since him and Pepper finally got together, so it comes out randomly at safe targets. People he knows aren't going to respond."

"He never flirts with me," Clint pointed out.

Natasha laughed. "That's because you're not a safe bet. You're as gay as they come, old man."

"You wish," Clint's voice took on a warmer tone, one reserved for familiar jokes. "So, you never told me what you thought about Cap and Barnes. Are the rumors true?"

The Soldier held his breath. He could deny all he wanted, tell himself that he was settling a score, destroying the last connection to James Buchanan Barnes, but that wasn't true. He needed to confirm for himself that the memories, muddled recollections that left him confused and angry, had risen in the last year were real. Steve Rogers was the only way to do that. Even if these two spies didn't believe the stories about Rogers and Barnes - he would still have to confirm for himself when Rogers finally came to New York - he still needed to hear it from someone else's point of view.

"It's complicated between them, that's for sure. I didn't believe the hype at first. All that civilian romanticized bullshit about them. We know what loyalty is and isn't, you know. But after, when SHIELD fell… I've never, I didn't know Cap could be that driven. He believes it so much, that Bucky is still in there. Maybe he is, I don't know, but Steve wants it so bad he's been on the road for a full year trying to find him. That's love, whether you believe it's romantic or platonic."

"It's going to be one hell of a reunion either way."

"That it is. I would also like to point out Steve flat-out refuses to date any woman I've thrown at him. Take from that what you will."

"I knew it," Clint stated. "If they don't skip off into the sunset together I'm going to be royally pissed off."

"Time will tell. So, you ready for round two?"

Clint groaned wearily. "I think I'm just going to go back to my room and oil the cams."

"All this talk about flirting got you all hot and bothered, Barton?"

"Is it that obvious?" He replied. They shared a laugh, and just before Clint left the room he called out, "You know, with all the potential for romance, I gotta stay on my toes. Never know when a Cupid could come in handy."

"One with poison tipped arrows. Much more practical."

Clint chuckled to himself as he quit the room. The Soldier had flipped over and was just leveling himself to leave when the Widow called out to the empty room.

"You can come down now… If you want."

He hesitated, hands planted firmly underneath his elbows, unsure if he should engage. His tenuous grasp on civility wasn't exactly conducive to idle chit-chat.

"Come now, we're all friends here."

He could practically hear her smirk. Cowardice didn't become him; if she wanted a confrontation, then she’d get one. He kicked out at the metal grating behind his feet until it flew from its moorings. There were a few precious seconds in which his stomach was vulnerable to attack but when the Widow saw fit to ignore it he dropped fully to the ground with a bit more confidence. His feet hit the mats silently and he looked up from under his brow to find Natasha leaning casually against the far wall, arms crossed, with a small smile.

He brushed his hands off and slowly made his way to the weight bench to sit. "You knew I was here," he stated.

She shrugged. "It's what I would have done."

They sized each other up for several long seconds, neither ready to start what would no doubt be an uncomfortable conversation.

"How long since your last fight?"

He cocked his head. "A week."

She reared back with a chuckle. "Are you counting Pepper? I think we both know how that went down."

The Soldier straightened his shoulders. "Three months. East LA."

The corners of her lips quirked. "Fancy a spar?" She asked easily as she tightened her hand wraps. She glanced up when he didn't respond right away. "I don't bite."

"I don't believe you."

Her smile widened. "How about if I promise not to bite?"

The Soldier inclined his head and rose from the weight bench, the Widow came away from the wall, and they met in the middle.  

"Go easy on me now," she drawled, palms up to strike.

The Soldier gave a real smile for the first time in a long time. Natasha was a worthy opponent; going easy on her didn't even factor. He started slow and struck her palms, followed the movements of her elbows to judge trajectory, foot placement to judge frame tension, until they were moving in a blur. Despite his initial doubts, after a while he found he was enjoying himself, even throwing out more complex moves to challenge her. And how beautifully she responded, weaving under him, flying over, an acrobat and dancer both. This counted the second time in a week that he'd battled a woman without the intent to kill. What a novelty.

"Keep a level head, Sergeant. Wouldn't want the guys to know you got beat by a girl. Again," she taunted.

Without acknowledgment he feigned left, twisted at the last second and used her momentum against her to pull her back against his front. His right forearm came up to press against her throat and he stuck two metal fingers lightly into her left kidney.

"I'm no more a Sergeant then you are a girl," he whispered in her ear.

He felt her core go solid, his only warning, before she twisted to an impossible degree and pulled his right leg out from underneath him. They both went down hard and before he could roll away she jabbed three fingers into his midsection, rapid-fire, then flipped away. The soldier gasped for breath and did his very best not to curl up into a ball on the ground. She'd caused abdominal guarding; the shock of it kept him grounded for longer than would have in the past and he felt the shame of it as intensely as the pain in his gut.

"I'm wounded, Barnes. I might be a former Soviet assassin but I'm still a girl," she pouted. He looked up, his eyes glaring ' _You're_ wounded?' She batted her eyelashes prettily and he shuffled away on his shoulders, in case she was planning another attack. The flirty look fell slowly, her eyes taking on a harder glint. She dropped slowly back to the mats and rested on the balls of her feet to look him up and down. He raised up to rest on his forearms.

"What?" He groaned.

"You need more training. Come back tomorrow, we'll do this again." They stared at each other, two warriors on the verge of either combat or tentative peace, until she blinded him with another sickly sweet smile. "We can't have all this muscle going to fat, now can we?" She slapped a hand over his stomach and then bounded out of the room. He stared after her long after she was gone and couldn't decide which part of him liked her, the Sergeant or the Soldier. Perhaps both.

                                                                                                        ~*~

They met every day for two weeks to spar - sometimes bare-handed, sometimes with weapons, dull knives and sticks mostly. They'd attracted a crowd for their bouts. Clint came first, unsure of the Soldier's motive, and then Pepper and Tony. Then some of the staff and Tony's friend Rhodes. Even the Falcon, who, upon entering the penthouse the first day, had walked up and punched the Soldier in the jaw. Pepper had gasped and everything had stilled as they stared each other down.

"Captain Rogers can defend himself," the Soldier pointed out quietly as he wiped the blood away from his lip with his thumb.

"I know,” he snapped. “That was for my wings, mother fucker. Try that shit again and I'll have your arm in a glass case on my coffee table," he admonished, glaring.

He nodded and the Falcon had nodded and everyone let out a collective breath.

Now, like clockwork, everyone gathered in the gymnasium to witness two Soviet assassins throw each other around the room. Rhodey would bring popcorn and they would sit in a semi-circle and critique, ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ over Natasha's acrobatics, now more for show than actual combative technique. Tony would sometimes flinch when the Widow got ahold of the Soldier in a particularly brutal fashion. The Soldier got the feeling he'd come close to feeling the sting of her bite before. Occasionally he'd have to stop Tony from tapping on his arm with the back end of a screwdriver, but otherwise they too seemed to have come to a truce. Clint could often be found complaining how 'uncool' it was for Cap to take off for an entire year like he had, without a word. What if they had needed him? Just because SHIELD was no more didn't mean there still hadn't been missions. Apparently the only person who didn't share this opinion, or a version of it, was Natasha. She would glance over at the Soldier to gauge his response but of course he had none. She'd smile and say everyone needed a vacation. Despite all logic, everyone seemed to get along nicely during his and Nat’s matches.  

"We should sell tickets to this," Tony said once as he munched on popcorn.

"Yeah cause you need the money," Rhodey replied dryly.

The most memorable incident had happened just the day before. He’d shown up to the gym the same time as always to find everyone standing around Tony as he pulled black harnesses from a plastic crate. He started when Nat dropped one over his head. He obediently raised his arms when she twisted around him to pull it snug. He wasn’t sure what they were doing but her grin made him more nervous than anything.

Tony leaned over and tossed him a plastic handgun. “For you, Helen.” At the Soldier’s perplexed look he explained, “Laser tag.”

He weighed the weapon in his hand, noting the lightness of its structure. “What’s laser tag?” He whispered to Nat while everyone else was busy adjusting their harnesses.

She clapped a hand to his shoulder. “You’re gonna love it. It’s like opening fire into a crowd of people but less clean up.”

“Oh. Okay.” He’d never bothered with clean up.

Tony clapped his hands. “Okay people. Listen up. Two rules; one: stick to the top five floors, excluding the roof. I’m looking at you, Birdman.” Sam and Clint both looked up at that. Tony pointed at Sam. “That one,” he clarified. “Second rule: You break it, you bought it. And considering…”He waved at himself. The group started to disperse but he coughed delicately. “Oh, and, uh, one more thing,” he started backing out of the room, “I’ve modified the vests. Now they’re gonna shock you when you get hit. Happy hunting!” He dove out of the doorway into the hall.

“What?” Rhodey questioned incredulously.

“Ow!” Clint exclaimed. He jumped again when Nat continued to shoot at him. “Stop!”

“Tony!” Pepper shouted and went running after him.

All hell broke loose after that. Shouts, giggles, the crash of broken vases, expletives, Jarvis giving away locations, all filled the top floors of Stark Tower for the next several hours.

The Soldier couldn’t remember the last time he’d had as much fun.   

Toward the end of the night, he and Natasha ended up cornering each other in Tony’s living room. They stared off at each other, neither moving an inch, until her eyes had shifted slightly to focus behind him. He instinctually dropped down, just in time for Nat to use his back to vault over and shoot Sam directly in the chest.

“Ah, shit!” He snapped. “Et tu, brute?” He whispered and fell to his knees.

Nat blew imaginary smoke from her pistol and then gently kicked him over.

They all heard footsteps approaching from the marble hall. The Soldier motioned for them to huddle behind the couch with him and they stayed crouched down silently until Nat, having peeked around the corner, whispered, “It’s Tony.”

As Tony slid around the corner, Nat gave the count. When she gave the signal all three leapt from behind the couch and opened fire.

“Mother of cats and shit!” He exclaimed, dancing out of the doorway as if his feet were on fire. “I give! Dammit, I give! Shit!” He struggled to get the vest off and the three inexplicable allies watched as he chucked it as far as he could. Nat and Sam fell over themselves laughing. Even the Soldier cracked a smile at Tony’s look of indignation.  

“Jarvis, call a cease fire, will ya?” He threw himself down on the sofa with a sigh. “You guys wanna watch a movie?” He looked up in question. “Let’s watch a movie.”

The Soldier looked to Nat as Jarvis announced the end of the match, but she was no help; she’d thrown herself down onto the couch as well. Sam fell into a chair and that left him standing alone like the only weed in an otherwise meticulous garden.

“Incidentally, Jarvis, who won the match?” Tony asked as he flipped through the projected list of movies.

“It was a tie, sir, between Ms. Potts and Mr. Barnes.”

Nat gave him a ‘well done’ face.

“Pepper?” Sam asked. “How was the least experienced player out of all of us one of the winners? What did you do, give her the only harness that doesn’t shock the hell outta ya?”  

“No, god no. Are you kidding? She’d kick my ass if I attempted to give her an advantage.”

“Damn right,” Pepper announced as she walked into the living room. “What are we talking about?”

“The fact that you won, snickerdoodle,” Tony wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her down onto the couch.

“Don’t call me snickerdoodle,” she commanded, crinkling her nose. “Hey! I won?” She looked around with a smile. “Oh, that’s why you thought I was cheating?” She asked Sam.

He put his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey I never said cheated. Anyway you tied with Barnes technically.”

The Soldier seemed to get a secret thrill whenever someone referred to him as Barnes, like he was getting away with something. He wondered if he’d ever get used to having a name. Pepper smiled at him with a gleam in her eye. “You want to play Last Man Standing?”

“Dear, leave the man alone. He’s old,” Tony teased. The Soldier frowned but it was lost on Tony, who was still busy flipping through movie titles. “Besides, it would be a draw. Neither one of you was really feeling those shocks, that’s how you won. You two are the only bionic weapons of the current group.” He gave her a warm grin. The rest of the group seemed to file in right after that, easily slotting into place within the fold. He remained standing awkwardly, unsure of his place, whether he should just walk away. Tony, Pepper and Rhodey argued over which movie to watch while he debated on leaving. Nat looked up as he took his first step back. She shook her head and motioned with a nod for him to join her on the couch.

He started to shake his head no but she snapped, “Just get over here.”

Tony looked up at the exchange. “Yeah, Helen, you’re welcome to stay. How do you feel about Rocky IV? Air Force One? Dr. Strangelove? A Good Day to Die Hard?”

Pepper slapped him in the shoulder with a scowl.

Sam quipped from the chair, “You know he’s not actually Russian, right? Dude’s from Brooklyn.”

“Yeah, Brooklyn’s great,” Tony quipped, “if you enjoy getting mugged by teenagers that smell like the East River.”

The Soldier instinctively opened his mouth to tear into him for the slight but the words felt so foreign on his tongue he quickly snapped it shut again. Nat came to his rescue again.

“You wanna see a real Russian villain, keep talking shit,” she threatened, then leaned forward and tugged on the Soldier’s hand until he dropped down to sit at her feet. “Let’s watch Salt.”

The room erupted into protest, mostly some version of ‘Not again’ or ‘You practically lived it, what’s the point?’

They eventually settled on a movie about a grown Peter Pan, and he had to wonder if they’d chosen it simply because he was familiar with the story already. It was good, he had to admit, a clever plot with enough adventure to keep him interested. He hadn’t really bothered watching movies in the last year but he had to admit cinema had come a long way. Despite being drawn into the story, he felt his eyes grow heavy. It might have had something to do with Nat carding her fingers through his hair. He wanted to protest but it did feel nice and he’d been soothed into unconsciousness before the words could escape.     

When he woke the next morning, most everyone had fallen asleep where they lay as well, with the exception of Rhodey, who seemed to have the most sense out of all of them, he must have gone to sleep in an actual bed at some point in the night. He had curled up on the floor beside the couch, Nat half on the couch, half on Clint, who was still sitting up but with Nat’s legs in his lap, head back, mouth open. Tony and Pepper were curled up together on the over end. Sam was sideways in his chair, snoring. The Soldier sat up and looked around with a strange feeling, one he couldn’t name, that left him both satisfied and empty. These people trusted him; against all reason, they’d invited him to join their ranks as an equal. Hell, if he’d meant them harm, they were like babes in their bassinets right now. That was where the empty ache came in. A part of him still calculated his odds of victory were he to attack them all in their sleep, and there wasn’t even a twinge from the cold blooded killer at this. It was Bucky Barnes who gasped in horror at the thought. He stared at Nat’s hand where it lay off the end of the couch, so small, delicate, in respite hardly a threat at all. She was like him in that. Maybe she warred with her dual nature as well.

He brushed the back of his hand against hers just before standing, and hoped no one saw. The rest of the day he spent in his room, staring out the window, reading the news from his computer, eating the lunch Tony’s staff brought, generally keeping to his usual schedule to counterbalance the strange events from the night before. He’d ignored the leap of excitement when Nat came by to say their normally scheduled fight would commence. He changed clothes quickly and met her in the gym, where the usual suspects had gathered, albeit less raucous than the day before.

Nat gave him a nod and ran at him with no other warning. They gave a performance worthy of the stage - light, almost comical in its display. He should have been frustrated by the lack of actual training but he found that he enjoyed entertaining the group as much as he had actual combat.  

Near the end of the bout, while Natasha was wrapped diagonally across his shoulders, she leaned in and whispered softly in Russian, "Meet me here, 03:00 hours." He gave a slight nod then tossed her into the air.

The command was buried in his mind as he concentrated on the match - keeping from actually hurting her took a lot of energy and planning - until the end. As everyone dispersed at the end of the match he made eye contact with her as they both toweled off, nodded once again and then quit the room. No one seemed to notice his absence.

It wasn’t like he expected any differently, other than the daily sparring matches, he had mostly kept to himself in his room. Sometimes Pepper would knock on his door and give him updates on Captain Rogers’ whereabouts, reiterating that he was nowhere to be found; but other than that he had no visitors. His room was a sanctuary, or it had been before last night; but now, looking around, it just felt empty.

He leaned against the padded headboard of the bed and booted up the borrowed laptop Pepper had given him. In the last year since his Hydra handlers had lost control of him, he'd gleaned as much information from the World Wide Web as he could. History, science, psychology, cultural turning points. A ghost from his past had whispered that he'd missed the sexual revolution and oh, what a pity that had been. Of course if he'd managed to survive the War unharmed he'd have been an old man at that point, so perhaps it was for the best. He’d tried listening to Bing Crosby and Glenn Miller in hopes it would jog more feeling from his hippocampus, but mostly it just gave him a headache.

Without fail though, he always seemed to end up in the same corner of the internet. He'd bookmarked the Captain America web page long ago and had long since stopped berating himself over the weakness. He clicked the familiar video of Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers together - the short, grainy, black and white evidence of their easy camaraderie, a painful reminder of everything he had apparently lost. He'd memorized James Buchanan Barnes' history, what was known of it, the public record and documented testimonials, and none of it seemed to matter like this did. He didn't feel sorrow over his lost family, his home, his time, his life; no, all that seemed to matter was there was a missing piece of him where Steve Rogers used to be. That was the only part he could feel. The first and last thing that was real since he'd broken free of his command. Now he had to wonder if maybe staying in Stark Tower hadn’t also jogged something loose in his brain, some deep-seated need to be welcomed into the fold of humanity. He certainly hadn’t felt the like during his ‘stay’ with Hydra. They’d broken him of that long ago. Should he be glad of this change? Should he be wary? Suppress or encourage?   

He slammed the laptop shut and rose from the bed, frustration dogging his every move as he walked to the window. The New York skyline was a stranger to him, which did little to calm his sudden nerves. Something needed to give soon or he'd be unable to stay, to maintain the illusion of stability. The bedside clock read 02:43 and he decided that was good enough.

The top floors were quiet save for the hum of electricity that seemed to flow on the air around him, that unfathomable technology that Tony had created to power the Tower just free-floating the halls with him. The dark of the space had his instincts crying out to tread lightly, to hide in the shadows like a thief, but he sternly reminded himself that he was a guest here, that he'd been invited - albeit reluctantly - that he had just as much right to walk the halls as any other. The gym was softly lit when he entered the double doors.

Before he could register its meaning, his arm shot out and caught the blade that had made its way toward his chest and flung it back at the blur of dark amongst the light. When the shadow coalesced, it was in the shape of a certain, black clad assassin. He raised a questioning eyebrow at her attire. She hadn’t felt the need to wear her uniform with him before and he wondered at its meaning now.

"Nice," she quipped. "I wasn't sure you were ready for that."

"What are you doing?" He asked, only slightly put out at having a knife thrown at him, more so at the change in their dynamic.

Natasha pulled the blade from the wall by her head and grinned at him. "I'm tired of playing it safe for the crowd, Barnes. Let's get serious."

"You want a real fight?" He walked further into the room, intrigued.

"If you're amenable." She tucked the knife into the sheath at her thigh, cracked her knuckles and rolled her neck casually.

The Soldier was chomping at the bit to take the fight to the next level, but Bucky was floating somewhere near the surface and thought 'hell no.' He warred with both parties and quickly reasoned with the assassin by rationalizing that if he wounded Natasha irreparably his tenuous welcome here would snap and several highly skilled agents with endless resources would be on him in seconds.

"No," he finally answered. "I can't risk it."

She stopped circling him and cocked her head. "I honestly can't figure you out."

His brow furrowed in question.

She walked over slowly, the furthest-buried part of him taking stock of her swaying hips in her skin-tight Widow uniform. Casually, she brought her knife back up and rested the tip just under his chin. He didn't move an inch as she scanned his face.

"Is he in there with you?" She asked, eyes flitting back and forth on his own.

"Who?"

"Barnes," she whispered. "Is he still in there or did they succeed in making you a mindless killing machine?"

The Soldier wanted to lash out in anger but he held his ground, not just because she had a finely honed steel blade to his chin, but because it wasn't in his nature to react. Or it hadn't been in the last seventy years.

"Would I be here if I was a mindless killing machine?"

The tip bit further into his skin and her voice took on the sharpness of the steel in her hand. "Answer the question. Is he in there?"

He took a shallow breath and answered truthfully. "I don't know."

She didn't like that answer but she did pull the blade back, a bit, and looked away in frustration. When she looked back in was with a sneer. "What _do_ you know?"

Silence was his only answer.

"What do you want with Steve?"

His hands clenched behind his back at that but he remained silent. Whatever the reason for prying, it wasn't her place to know. She couldn't still see him as a threat; they'd proven already that he wasn't completely up to his previous fighting standards, meaning he was in no place to harm Captain Rogers.

"Seriously, I want to know. Do you think he can tell you who you are? Because he can't, not any more than opening a history book can. He can recall memories for you, maybe even jog a few loose," she tapped on his forehead, "but he can't bring Bucky back if you can't do that yourself."

The Soldier glared down at her, anger bubbling up at the surface clearly in the set of his jaw, the clench in his teeth, the nails buried in palms.

"That's my business," he growled quietly.

"Yeah? Well I'm making it my business," she replied. "You hurt my friend, I'm not letting you within fifty feet of him until I figure out what your angle is."

His throat constricted, an unbidden wave of emotion rushed forward to choke him. He let none of this show, or at least he hoped.

"He was my friend first," he answered petulantly.

"No. He was Bucky Barnes’ friend first," she snarled. "You don't know who you are."

If he was still able to feel betrayal he might say her words had sent him reeling. Friendship wasn't something he could claim to be capable of anymore but he had actually thought they were on the same page at the very least, allies in arms; that she was his defender, just as Pepper had been. He tried to tell himself that he didn't need defenders but the lie didn't stick. He liked that Natasha had forgiven their past to take him under her wing, that she had understood his taciturn companionship and obliged his need for violence in a safe environment. Damn her, she'd tricked him into foregoing his ruthlessness.

Without thought he backed her into the wall by the throat. As soon as her back hit he lifted her up until her toes barely scraped the ground.

"Do you still want a real fight?" he calmly asked.

Her face flushed red but she didn't scramble for purchase or try to pry his hand away.

She smiled.

By the time his body registered the pain in his inner thigh, his leg had already given out and she'd broken his hold on her. He rolled away just in time to avoid her boot coming down on his chest. In the last few weeks he'd memorized every move she'd used on him but he didn't doubt for a second that she'd held back a hundred more. They both popped up at the same time and circled slowly.

"Weapons?" He questioned.

She smirked. "No, wouldn't want you to get hurt." Her blade found a home in the opposite wall.

"And the other one," he quipped with a nod, pointing out the spare in her boot. She shook her head with a grin. "It's hardly fair, is it?"

"You're right. I've already got you at a severe disadvantage." She pulled the spare as well and let it fly.

The Soldier pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it away. "We'll see."

"Oh, now who's not playing fair?" She whined.

He lunged for her, just barely glancing a finger off her side before she spun away. With a quick twist she cracked the flat of her hand down onto his inner elbow and then bounded off. He wanted to hiss at her but he didn't. Instead he crouched low and then ran full sprint at her. She managed to get to the opposite end of the gym but he ruthlessly got her by the middle and rolled with her until they slammed into the mirrored wall. He pulled at her wrist until he had her arm pinned up into her back but she managed to twist out of it easily. Knowing it still must have pained her, he struck out at her shoulder just before she flipped up onto her feet. He rose slowly, a hint of a smile ghosting his lips as she rotated her shoulder.

"Feeling it yet?" He asked as he rose.

"Hardly, _Дедушка._ "

 _Grandpa_. He did smile at that. "I thought you wanted a real fight."

She nearly caught him in the face with a steel toed boot but he leaned back in the nick of time. Her ankle found its way into his grasp and he used it to toss her off balance. When she hit the ground he followed up with a dropping a leg onto her midsection. She hissed several expletives but gave back in the form of two boots into his still sore stomach. He doubled up on the mat but had little time to feel sorry for himself. They were both up and sprinting again.

At some point, he lost track where, she stopped going on the offensive and just blocked all of his shots or quickly dodged out of the way. He should have taken it for a sign but he didn't.

"Tell me, Sergeant, are the rumors true?"

He slowed his approach.

"You know," she teased, "you and Cap. Just BFF's or was there really something there?"

He sneered and struck out at her, which she dodged.

"I mean, everyone knows the story, how he risked his life trying to get to you and your men out of Hydra's grasp. Some people speculate on what sort of relationship you guys had before the war, to warrant that kind of loyalty."

He did his very best not to try and crush her head with his metal hand but it was a close thing. "You said so yourself. You don't believe the rumors," he sneered.

"You defied Hydra command when you saved Steve that day." She looked away and back with a smirk. "It does make a girl wonder."

His foot caught her in the hip and she stumbled. He was on her in a second and, with a hand buried in her hair, he pushed her face first into the wall.

"What difference would it make to you?" He hissed into her ear. "I'm not him, remember?"

She opened her mouth to answer but was cut off when a hand came down on his shoulder and spun him away from her.

Before he could gather the strength to fight back, he found himself looking into the enraged blue eyes of Captain Steven Rogers as he pinned him the wall by his throat. His body seemed to deflate against his will.

"You said he was better," Rogers snapped at Natasha without breaking eye contact.

"Put him down, Cap," she commanded. He didn't comply. If anything, his grip tightened. "Steve, put him down," she spat, as one would to a subordinate. Captain Rogers was hardly that but he did let up enough for the Soldier to take a clear breath.

"Did he hurt you?" Rogers asked her, still not looking away.

"No. ‘Course not, we were just having some fun. C'mon, put him down."

"Fun," Rogers stated, finally breaking the heart racing eye contact to look down at her. "Didn't look like fun to me. Looked like he was roughing you up."

"Please. You know the only way somebody gets the drop on me is if I let 'em."

The Soldier huffed, still angry at her. "I remember you taking two of my bullets. Was that all part of your plan too?"

She grinned but Rogers snapped out a, "Hey," and saw fit to rattle his brain in his skull. "You keep your mouth shut until I get to the bottom of this, understood?"

The Soldier licked his lips but nodded. Rogers scowled at the both of them.

"It was just a bit of friendly competition, Steve, I swear," her eyes flitted to the Soldier’s briefly and his widened comically at her blatant lie, "can't we settle this like adults?"

"Adults who aren't trained to kill, you mean?"

"Yeah, that." She tugged on Rogers’ arm again. He gave not an inch.

Once again the Soldier found himself having two conflicting thoughts, emotions, conversations in his own mind. The assassin quietly took stock of his position, likely weak points to exploit, his chances at winning against the Captain (not good). The deeper, long-buried part of him rose up just enough to utterly devastate him with emotions. It was lucky he was at least somewhat prepared for this eventuality, as he'd been feeling subdued fractions of it for a year now; but this was concentrated emotion on full blast. His skin was slick with it. _Want, want, want_ , his pulse screamed. Want _what_ , he wasn't sure but the answer was becoming clearer the longer Rogers’ fingers stayed clamped around his neck. He'd thought all he needed was to interrogate the man, clarify his past, _their_ past, and then he could move on.

Now he wasn't so sure.

Imagines came, unbidden, of times when they were together, the heady mix of camaraderie and trust, the weight of loyalty, an anchor rather than a ball and chain. Then things had changed, something that had gone deeper than loyalty. He didn't remember when exactly, but he knew that something had shifted. He knew it was real, he could feel it, here and now, the only thing he'd connected to his past that felt true. There was a name for this feeling, he was sure, but he couldn't recall. Despite his best efforts, everything he'd learned about psychology went right out the window, absolutely no help to him whatsoever, when he found himself staring at Captain Rogers, looking so very lethal in front of him.

He realized he'd tuned out of the conversation when they both turned towards him with an expectant look.

He licked his lips again. "What?"

"If I put you down, will you behave?"

His eyes narrowed. "I'm a former Soviet Assassin, not a dog."

Natasha chuckled. "Same thing," she quipped in Russian.

Rogers frowned at her but released the Soldier from his grasp. He reached up a hand and rubbed at the heated skin. It didn't hurt per se, more like his nerve endings sizzled with awareness.  

"We had a deal, Nat." Rogers raised an expectant eyebrow at her until she threw both hands up.

"I'm gone." She gave the Soldier a look, undecipherable, before she turned and walked away.

The Soldier made to move as well but was pinned to the wall again, this time by Rogers’ stare.

"We have unfinished business, you and I."

His pulse skyrocketed instantly. No, he wasn't ready to confront this yet, he'd only just come to realize there was something missing from his memories, he hadn't had time to process it yet. His eyes flitted nervously, catching on the repaired air duct hatch. Could he get the panel open fast enough to get inside? That was absurd, why not just leave using the hallway?

“First things first, don’t touch Nat again.”

He looked up at that. “She wanted to fight.”

“I’m sure she did. _Don’t touch her again._ ” Rogers pointed a finger at him like an angry parent. The Soldier bristled at the command but didn’t get a chance to comment. “Second, you are one unbelievable bastard, you know that?”

His mouth opened and then clicked back shut. What was he supposed to say to that?

“Do you know what I’ve been through, trying to find you, this past year? Wondering if Hydra still had you, whether you’d been killed, were off doing the killing, all sorts of worry keeping me up at night and here you waltz into Tony’s house like you were invited. Everybody’s suddenly on Team Bucky like you’re the damn mascot. What the hell, Buck?”

The Soldier latched onto Rogers saying his name again like a lifeline. A thousand pounds of pressure seemed to lift off of his shoulders and he nearly stumbled from shock of it. It was like a switch had been thrown, like Bucky Barnes had been waiting for permission from Rogers before sitting up and taking notice. It wasn’t like he’d magically returned to himself; rather, the memories became clearer to the point of being painful, the nostalgia of being in the company of this man near overwhelming. Rogers put a hand to his chest to steady him as he sagged against the wall and they made eye contact again briefly before both flinched. His heart lurched inside his chest, his stomach a roiling mess; where once he was damp with sweat, now he dripped. Rogers’ touch burned his skin where it made contact and he had to put all his energy into not leaning into it. He pulled fully away from the touch and Rogers took a step back.

“You all right?” Rogers asked in a concerned voice incongruent with his rage just moments before. Christ, the man was a walking contradiction.

He nodded vaguely and looked away, not nearly ready to deal with this turn of events. His shirt lay on the floor to his right and he motioned to it.

Rogers glanced down. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, go ahead.”

He moved out of the way and the Soldier bent down to sweep it off the floor and pull it back over his chest. They stood in silence as he took an unreasonably long time adjusting the fabric around his torso, just to have something to do with his hands.

“C’mon man, you gotta give me something to work with here.”

The Soldier looked up, unsure on how to respond.

“Look, I need to know…” He looked away briefly but turned back. “If you’re not Bucky that’s fi- I’ll deal with it. I just need to know if you’re safe. Can we trust you?”

“I won’t hurt your friends. They’ve been… kind,” he answered. He tried not to think of the way Natasha had manipulated him, how the sting of it hadn’t gone away yet, how months ago he wouldn’t even have felt a sting.

“Kind. Yeah, I can see that. Pepper says you broke in. I’m not sure how you managed to swing room and board out of Tony. Or why Sam hasn’t strangled you in your sleep yet.”

The Soldier’s lips twitched. “He did hit me.”

“Ahh. Good for him.”

“And I didn’t break in, I snuck in with a group of journalists. Pepper caught me and…”

“Somehow decided it was a good idea to take you under her wing?” He finished.

“Yes.” The Soldier looked down at his hands. “Apparently.”

Rogers ran a hand over his face. “Jeez, this is… this is unreal.”

“It is?” He questioned.

“Yeah,” Rogers chuckled in surprise. “When I pictured this moment this is definitely not what I thought was going to happen.”

“What did you think was going to happen?” He whispered, suddenly nervous, which made him angry and then inexplicably exhausted. He wasn’t used to this gamut of emotions.

“Well… more gunfire. Screaming. A building collapsing maybe. I don’t know. Not this.” He waved at the Soldier as if to say, ‘Whatever you are.’ He wasn’t sure if he should be offended or not.

“I have weapons in my room,” he offered instead.

“Why? I mean, how? They let you keep weapons on you? Are they crazy?”

“Natasha, The Widow, she went to my safe house and brought my stuff back for me.”

Rogers shook his head but smiled fondly. “Stupid. All right, I assume you haven’t cut anybody yet, so I guess I’ll let that slide.”

He bristled again at that. “I have a right to defend myself.”

Rogers stopped pivoting on his heels and looked up. “From what, Buck? Nobody here wants to hurt you, not really.”

“You’re so sure,” he scoffed. “Natasha threw a knife at my chest an hour ago. Tony has been trying to take my arm since I arrived. Your friend, the Falcon, would have been happy to smother me with a pillow given the chance, though I don’t blame him for that. Pepper has offered to boil my frontal lobe should I step out of line just once. Not to mention what the computer wants to do to me.”

“I do what I’m told, sir,” Jarvis quipped.

“Privacy, please, Jarvis,” Rogers called out.

“Yes, sir.”

He threw up a hand. “No, see? That’s just placating. I know he’s still listening. What?” He snapped when he saw Rogers was holding back a laugh.

“Nothing. It’s just… That’s the most I’ve heard you talk since…”

Having it pointed out made him instantly uncomfortable, so he took a few steps back and searched the room for something to look at.

“No, no,” Rogers rushed to say, “it’s a good thing. I wasn’t sure you still had it in you.”

“What?” Curious despite his resolve to keep his mouth shut.

“That mouth of yours. You used to be so good with words, dames would fall at your feet. You’d gone quiet, even before this,” he waved at the Soldier, “during the War. We never talked about it but I would have if you’d wanted to. You should know that. I wanted to tell you. If you’d wanted to talk then I would have listened.”

The Soldier nodded slowly, unsure how he was supposed to take the information.

“Do you remember any of that? The War? Anything from before?”

He licked his lips nervously. This was the thing he feared most. What if there wasn’t enough Bucky Barnes to keep Captain Rogers interested?

“Some, I think. It’s hard for me to tell what’s a memory and what’s something I just read. But more and more comes every day.”

“That’s good, right?” Rogers asked, his face animated in a way that sent the Soldier into a tailspin of worry. To disappoint this man…

He wasn’t ready to admit Captain Rogers was the only thing that made him feel again, so he explained the best he could. “I guess. It’s hard to explain. It’s like, I’ll remember something but I have no feeling attached to it, like I’m remembering something from someone else’s life. If that makes sense.”

And there came the disappointment. Rogers face fell, minutely, but enough for him to tell he’d failed some sort of test. His stomach flipped, nausea threatened to overtake him.

“Well, that’s better than nothing, I guess.” Rogers walked over slowly and tentatively placed his hands on both the metal and flesh parts of The Soldier's shoulders. He tried not to tense up and failed. “The main thing is, can I trust you?”

He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

“Can I trust you around my friends, my co-workers?" Rogers went on. "Can I trust that you’re not still a part of Hydra? Because if I can’t trust you to be Bucky, I at least need to trust this person you’ve become. _Can_ I trust you?”

The words wouldn’t come. He wanted to say, ‘You’re the only thing since I’ve woken up that makes any sense, the only good thing I remember clearly. Don’t leave me here by myself with all the things I’ve done, could still do; don’t leave me untethered, I need you. You are the only home I have ever known. I _need_ you.’ The only thing he knew for sure was that he’d do anything to keep near Steve, and if that meant never throwing another punch again, he’d do it. He’d be good for Captain Rogers, he’d tie both hands behind his back and never speak an ill word ever again. All he could manage was another nod, which seemed to be good enough for Rogers. His answering smile lit a fuse in the Soldier’s stomach, like a bomb had gone off in his gut but instead of tearing him to pieces, it was putting him back together with molten lava. _I did that_ , he thought, _I put that smile there._

“You all right?” Rogers asked again, smile still in place but his brow furrowed just the slightest bit in concern.

He did the only thing he could think of. He leaned forward, gently placed a hand to the back of that warm neck, and kissed Captain America. Approximately four seconds of warm, dry contact before Rogers’ hands gripped him and shoved him hard into the wall. Rogers stumbled back in shock, the back of his wrist pressed hard to his mouth as he stared at the Soldier in horror.

The Soldier’s stomach dropped in panic. _What have I done?_

“That… that was low, even for you,” Rogers spoke so quietly the Soldier almost missed it over the sound of the pulse in his ears.

He wanted to ask, why was what he’d done so wrong but before he could find his voice, Rogers was stumbling toward the door. Panic descended. He’d ruined everything; without thinking he’d acted and it had utterly wiped clean everything he’d worked for in the last year. Every endeavor to find himself, claim something for his own, made pointless by his stupidity. He must have read every emotion he’d felt wrong, likened friendship to lust somehow. Humanity shouldn’t have become such an over-complex thing to navigate, but it was clearly beyond him. Natasha was right, he wasn’t Bucky Barnes, he was a mindless thing, a machine.

He took one step forward, heedless of action, just the burning need to be away, but something seized his limbs, a pain unlike anything he’d ever felt. And then nothing.

                                                                                                        ~*~

When he awoke, it was with a gasp. Chills wracked his frame and he clutched at his chest in terror.

“Bucky, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Pepper soothed, a hand to his over his chest, “it’s over. You’re safe.”

He stared wide eyed at her in the low light of his room, still not convinced he wasn’t on death’s door. She placed a glass of water in his hand and he drained it in two seconds. When he was done he handed it back; she took it and then put hand to his shoulder and eased him back down gently.

“Here,” she whispered, turning for a washcloth she’d set in a metal bowl. She wrung it out and then gently placed it on his forehead. His eyes closed as the cool rag covered his sweat-soaked brow.

“Captain Rogers,” he croaked, unable to not ask despite his determination not to care.

“He’s gone out. I’m sure he’ll be back,” she assured.

 _No, he won’t._ The Soldier opened his eyes and looked out the window. It was still night; a glance at the bedside clock said 5:47. The sun would be up soon, might already be lighting the sky on the other side of the tower.

“What happened?” He asked.

“Jarvis, I’m afraid,” she informed him with a wan smile.

“Apologies, again,” Jarvis spoke quietly.

He sneered at the room, which made Pepper laugh.

“It’s not his fault, it’s ours. Tony set his stun program to work under specific conditions. Whatever you were feeling earlier this evening… It triggered Jarvis’ warning meter. Natasha found you in the gym an hour ago, says you and Captain Rogers must have fought and that triggered the impulse machine.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why didn’t Rogers get zapped?” He asked as he pulled the washcloth from his head and struggled to sit up. His whole core felt like he’d been drop kicked off a seven-story building. Pepper made little fluttering gestures with her hand, to signify she didn’t think he should be sitting up. “I have to go,” he groaned, trying to move her aside.

“You shouldn’t be up, you’ve just been hit with fifty thousand volts of electricity.”

He shook his head and coughed out, “Doesn’t matter.” His head swam as he stood from the bed but he made his way toward the bureau, pulling out every article of clothing he had. The black duffle bag Natasha had brought from his safe house was under the bed and he snatched at the strap and slapped it down, shoving everything in indiscreetly.

“Bucky, this is a mistake,” Pepper tried.

“ _I’m not Bucky_ ,” he roared, head down, hands balled up inside the bag.

If he expected her to flinch he was disappointed. She frowned but stood tall as he punched the rest of his clothes down.

“You’re making a mistake,” she reiterated. “He’s just in shock, I’m sure once he wraps his head around this he’ll be back.”

Horror froze his limbs. The Soldier didn’t move as he tried to reconcile this. Had Captain Rogers told her what he’d done?

“What?” He whispered.

“You being back, being here. You were getting better. He’s been waiting for this since… well, you know. I think he just never thought it was going to really happen. You can’t expect him to jump on board right away, not after everything he’s been through. Just give it time, please. For me?”

Her eyes implored him to reconsider, but knowing that she didn’t know the real reason for Rogers leaving, having thought for a moment that she had, only steeled his resolve to go. If any of them found out…

“Thank you. For your hospitality.” He slung his bag over his metal shoulder and walked away without looking back. He made it to the elevator in peace but while the doors were still open Natasha stepped in front. They locked eyes and she whispered one word just before the doors closed.

“ _Кауард._ ”

_Coward._

His fist left a dent in the door when it connected.

The sun was indeed lighting the sky when he stepped out of the building. He hadn’t been out in three weeks, not once since he’d arrived; so caught up in waiting for Captain Rogers he hadn’t dared leave for a second. Now he looked around, lost for a destination. The safe house was the logical answer but he didn’t want to sit in that dark hole, wasting away like before. At least then he’d had a mission, albeit one he’d given himself; it had still been motivation to keep moving. The only thing moving him now was his need to be away from his failure. What came after?

He made his way to the subway, only once having to look up in confusion. The city left him feeling empty in a way that it hadn’t before Stark Tower. Being lost in time hadn’t affected him in the least this past year, at least not in any way that a library or the internet couldn’t solve. But now…

He looked around after the subway let him off at Carroll Street. What he remembered of Brooklyn was gone, and he only now felt sadness over it. Damn him for opening himself up for this pain; he should have left well enough alone and been thankful for what he had. His freedom.

His safe house was actually nearer to the docks but his feet pulled him instead toward his old stomping grounds. His and Rogers’ old apartment complex had been torn down and an office building put in its place. He’d come here several times in the last year; there was a little café on the corner that he’d sat at more than once, in an attempt to jog his memory, or at least some feeling for the memories. And still all he’d been able to conjure was a warm, multi-faceted emotion associated with Steven Rogers. Be it the scrawny, bulldog version of him, running the streets at Bucky's side, just there on Hill Street, or the Captain who’d saved him and his men from Schmidt and Zola. Either man was the center of Bucky’s world; he’d known that even before he’d gone looking for answers. It was the reason he’d woken up. Rogers’ face, his voice, his trust, had brought Bucky back from the edge of the abyss. What would become of him now? Would the Soldier overcome? Would he lose the emotion he’d gained in the last year? He was loath to give up the progress that had been made but wouldn’t it be better than this? Whatever this feeling was in his chest, he’d rather be rid of it; he’d welcome the cold, rational machine that had come before. The blank slate had been the only good thing about being nearly immortal.

He looked up as he rounded the corner across the street from his destination. Just in time he pulled back, let the brick of the building at his back hold his weight, as he registered Rogers sitting at the café already. Anger sizzled along his nerves along with the shock. How dare Rogers claim that spot for his own already when The Soldier needed the solace more!

He leaned over enough to glance back across the street. Rogers was the only customer seated outside; there were a smattering of others seated inside. They must have recently opened. Rogers nursed a mug of something warm even though the late spring air was far from chilly enough to warrant it. Coffee, most likely. A previously unknown memory rose up. Steve had never been able to drink coffee before, his heart was too weak. And it had been scarce in Europe during the War; he didn’t remember ever seeing him drink it then. The novelty of seeing it now was… he didn’t know the name of the emotion. Bittersweet? It was some mixture of homesickness, amusement and sadness. Too many things to parse out and name.

The waitress came out to top him off with a smile; Rogers thanked her by name. He’d been there before, then. That knowledge hurt even more. Could he have nothing that Rogers hadn’t already claimed for his own?

Suddenly he was bumped into from behind as a girl in her mid-twenties came barreling out of the doorway he’d backed into.

“Oh,” she exclaimed. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t… James?”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Yes?”

“You don’t remember me. Ellie, I work across the street,” she pointed at the café, “you’ve come in a few times.”

He stared at her in wonder. It had been a month since he’d been there, easily.

“I’m good with faces,” she explained with a smile. “Were you on your way over? I’m late, that’s why I was running. C’mon,” she linked arms with him, “I’ll get you a brownie to make up for bumping into you.”

He dug his heels in as she started to pull him along. Too late. He looked up just as Rogers was standing slowly, anger coloring his face as their eyes met. Ellie looked up at him as he slammed to a stop. He gently pulled her fingers away from his arm and backed away, never breaking eye contact. Rogers looked at Ellie and motioned for her to continue walking across the street. When she reluctantly complied he casually pulled a few bills from his wallet and set them down on the table.

It wasn’t until The Soldier was near rounding the corner again that Rogers vaulted over the railing and made a dash across the street. He dropped his bag and sprinted down the street as fast as his legs would carry him. He got lucky crossing the next street, making it over the hood of a car, horn blaring loudly in protest, just before a semi heading to the IKEA warehouse passed, gaining him precious extra seconds to get down the busier streets. He dodged a few pedestrians who called out in anger as he passed, and then flew down an alley with a fire escape. He flung himself up and onto the ladder and then as quickly as his legs would work he flew up the stairs. The rooftops were the perfect terrain for losing Rogers; he’d used them before when scouting the neighborhood, so he would have the advantage. He didn’t dare turn around when he heard Rogers make the leap and start up the metal stairs behind him; he just ran and leapt for the next rooftop. And he kept running, over ledges, around corners and chimneys, down terraces when need be, but still Rogers followed. Damn the man.   

He could see the docks now, further the Statue and the wide open sea. He knew his safe house was near but that was hardly an option. All his weapons had been in his bag, which he’d stupidly dropped when he’d panicked and run. Unless Natasha had missed the Glock he’d taped inside the upper drawer in the bedside table. In his panic he couldn’t recall if it had been in his bag. He’d have to take his chances. He didn’t know what Rogers would do when he caught up; he needed to be prepared for any eventuality.

He spun left and dropped down onto a balcony. It was a short leap from one down to the next and from there he ran along the edge until he could reach the adjacent balcony. His tiny one room apartment was located just on the other side. Rogers was maybe seven seconds behind him. He kicked the door in and barreled through, rolled across the tiny mattress until he could reach into the drawer. Just as Rogers’ silhouette filled out the doorway his fingers wrapped around the Glock - bless Natasha for missing it - and he sat up and pointed it.

Rogers ducked, faster than even his eyes could track, and then he was on him, rolling them both off the bed. They struggled, Rogers knocking his hand into the floor several times until he lost his grip, and then Rogers tossed the gun aside. The Soldier buckled, a sad attempt to throw Rogers off, but found himself pinned completely.

“Why were you following me?” He growled in the Soldier’s face. He didn’t answer, he wouldn’t defend himself to this man. “I trusted you! I can’t believe you had me so fooled.” He looked away at that and the Soldier tried again to get out from underneath him but it was no use. “I’m not going to let you use Bucky against me. Do you hear me? Just because you have his memories doesn’t mean you can use them to against me.”

The Soldier felt his brow furrow. He didn’t understand.

“Stop it. It’s not going to work. You used up my sympathy when you-“ He shook his head. “How dare you! I was ready to trust you, why would you do that? You had to know I wouldn’t-“

He found that his head was shaking back and forth in confusion, the accusations that he’d done it out of some manipulative, ulterior motive baffled him. He had thought that… He had truly thought that they were… And he’d wanted so badly…

“Bucky would never do that,” Rogers’ voice trembled.

“He wouldn’t?” The Soldier whispered. He felt his stomach drop again as it had when Rogers had pushed him away. Steve was the expert, wasn’t he? He would know if Bucky was capable of that kind of emotion. Confirmation of his error left him deflated. All the tension in his body went out as he stopped pushing back and then Rogers was simply straddling him on the floor instead of holding him down. He didn’t care anymore; he was inside his own head, tearing at the memories with a serrated blade. It no longer mattered what he believed, he just wanted them gone; the feelings, the goals he’d set in motion, his past, present, future; he wanted it all gone.

“What is the matter with you?” Rogers snapped when he didn’t respond to being rattled.

“Just go. Your friends are safe. I won’t bother you again.” His voice sounded dead, even to his own ears. He didn’t care. He stared at the far wall from under the bed as Rogers lifted slowly off of him. He didn’t go far, just leaned up against the bed by his feet.

“I don’t understand you. What was the point of all this?”

“If you’re trying to assign a motive to it, don’t bother,” The Soldier whispered and then cleared his throat. “Just go please. I’ll be out of the city and you can go back to… whatever it was that you did before.”

Rogers was quiet for a moment. His wrists rested loosely on his knees, which were drawn up, his feet resting just inches from The Soldier's own. Captain America indeed. Rogers was still so much that punk kid, stubborn, pugnacious, but quiet, contemplative. He squeezed his eyes shut at the pain that continued to beat at him. It took all of his strength to push himself up and away. All he could do was ignore the man until he went away.

“Everything I ever did was so you would notice me,” Rogers said quietly.

The Soldier opened his eyes at that. Rogers hadn’t moved, his head resting against the bed, eyes closed, but he continued to speak.

“Every good thing about me, my honor, my selflessness, all the moral high ground of Captain America,” he said with just the tiniest bit of irony, “it was all cultivated by you. You were my best friend,” his voice slipped into a near whisper. “It was different times then, you didn’t… you couldn’t… and even if you could, _you_ never would have…” He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, looked at the Soldier in determination. “I can’t trust you, I know that, but I can’t live my life knowing you’re alive, out there somewhere… without me. I’ll deal with this, somehow, I’ll deal with it, just… don’t leave, okay? And don’t… don’t ever do… that…” His breath caught and his fists clenched.

“I don’t understand.” He really didn’t; the things Rogers was saying rattled inside his head, bounced off bone and came back warped, like an echo repeating the wrong thing.

“Don’t ever use what I feel-“ he stopped and swallowed, “felt for Bucky against me again. I was ready to forgive everything. You didn’t have to do that. I don’t know why you came to the café but it doesn’t matter. Everyone else already agreed to take you into the fold, you can become a valuable member of what’s left of SHIELD. The Avengers. Just don’t…” He didn’t finish, his head fell between his shoulders.

A small bundle of hope unfurled in his chest. If what he was hearing was correct, Steven Rogers had loved him since the beginning. The only issue they seemed to be having was his belief that Bucky had never returned those feelings. The Soldier didn’t know why Bucky had never opened up but he knew that he’d loved Steve then and god help him, he loved Steve now. That was the feeling that had kept him from killing Steve on the helicarrier. The reason he’d pulled him from the river and had been searching for answers ever since.

He wiped his sweating palms on his pants and did his best to bolster his courage. His blood pressure was probably dangerously high but Jarvis wasn’t there to zap him this time. He sat up fully and stared Rogers down. He received a wary glance but he wouldn’t miss this opportunity for anything.

“I went to the café because it’s familiar to me. I’ve been there a lot since SHIELD fell, since I started remembering again. I didn’t know you’d be there. I wasn’t following you.” He swallowed nervously at Rogers’ concentrated stare. His courage almost failed but he soldiered on. “I wasn’t trying to manipulate you tonight. That was never my intent.”

“What are you saying?” He whispered, wary but maybe just the tiniest bit hopeful.

“You said Bucky would never do that… but…” he licked his lips nervously, “I think he would. I think I would.” He nodded once. There it was. Let the chips fall where they may.

Rogers uncurled from his position and crawled the short distance to where the Soldier sat. His hand came up and grasped Bucky by the neck tightly, his thumb pressed just beside his ear.

“God help you if you’re lying to me again,” he growled.

“You and me, til the end of the line… What did you think that meant, Steve? That I wanted to be with you til we died… platonically?”

Steve belted out a laugh that had his toes curling in his shoes.

And then they were kissing again, not warm and dry but hot and wet, and if his toes curled any more he’d bust right out of his shoes. They both groaned loudly, tugging sharply at the other, and somehow managed to get into the bed without letting go of each other.

“I’ve never,” he breathed into Steve’s mouth, “I don’t think,” he amended with a chuckle.

“Me either. I mean, with dames, sure, but never with a guy,” Steve admitted.

He pulled back a little at that. “Not even since you woke up?”

He looked away. “Not at all, with anyone. I can’t. It’s been too hard to reconcile the time, the new culture, your death, for me to make attachments.” Steve swooped back down before he could utter a word to that.

He thought his heart might very well explode with his racing pulse; with every sweep of Steve’s tongue it ratcheted up a little higher. When Steve gripped him under his knee and lifted his leg up, slotting their hips together, he thought he’d die. He pulled away with a gasp and unconsciously tilted his hips up.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for eighty three years,” Steve growled, “stop pulling your lips away from me.”

There wasn’t much to say to that; even if there were, his lips were otherwise occupied. Steve rocked against him over and over; it was like being burned from the inside out but he’d never wanted anything more in his life. Steve managed to shrug his jacket off his shoulders and toss it to the ground without breaking the kiss. He slithered both hands up underneath Steve’s shirt and helped to pull it up over Steve’s head. They lifted up to do the same for his as well and then they both groaned at the expanse of skin contact. All that hot muscle against his; he couldn’t believe he’d been thinking of anything but this for seven decades. How had he managed to function when this was possible?

Steve fumbled with his belt. “Shoes, pants, underwear. Get them off, now,” he commanded.

“Yes, Captain,” he growled back, but instead of complying, he attached himself to Steve’s neck and sucked a bruise into the skin there. Steve whined in his throat, fingers clenching at the leather strip in his hand but unable to finish the task of removing it. The Soldier saw fit to help him by smacking his hand away and pulling at the belt himself. He threw it away and fumbled the button and zipper open, all the while biting roughly at Steve’s throat. The pants only made it as far as the bottom of Steve’s ass before he couldn’t wait any longer. He’d never been so grateful to still have his dominant hand, because the feel of Steve’s hot prick in his hand was a tactile sensation he wouldn’t have missed for the world.

“Buck,” Steve whined and pushed into his hand.

His heart stuttered. “Say it again,” he whispered against Steve's skin.

“Bucky Barnes, don’t you dare stop,” he begged.

“Never,” he answered easily. He pulled Steve back down and licked into his mouth with military precision. They rolled sideways and Steve pawed at his pants distractedly until he could get at the throbbing erection underneath. He hissed when Steve pulled him free and started stroking him.

At some point they managed to slot together and rub themselves between both hands. He contributed their continued survival to the serum coursing through their veins; between the hot carbon dioxide they were breathing in and the speed of their pulses, it was clear that they were well beyond what would have killed a normal man. No one could experience this level of significant passion and survive.

“Buck, Buck, I’m…” Steve kissed him again, hard, and then spilled over both of their hands.

The significance of the moment was not lost on Bucky. _He’d_ done that. _He’d_ made Captain Steven Rogers, punk kid from Brooklyn, New York, darling of the US Military, spill all over his bare stomach. It was seconds later that he swelled against Steve’s hand and cock and spilled his own share. The orgasm flushed his whole body and when he was finished it was like he’d emptied seventy years worth of anguish with it.

Steve fell against him, heavy and sated, onto his chest. He ran his fingers up and down Steve’s back while their breathing gradually settled. Eventually, Steve sat up and looked down at him. The corners of his eyes crinkled as his smile grew and Bucky couldn’t help but laugh.

“What are you looking at?” He questioned Steve with a mock glare.

“ _You_ ,” the emphasis was clear. His heart warmed even more to hear it. “I remember that smile.”

“What smile?” He asked, knowing full well that he was grinning like an idiot.

“That one. The ‘Cat who got the Canary’ smile. I’ve just never seen it aimed at me is all.”  

His brow furrowed in guilt. “Steve-“ He started to explain but he was interrupted.

“Don’t, it’s okay, really. There are things we both could have changed but didn’t. I don’t blame you.”

He thought about that; true though it was, he still felt the weight of guilt. “I don’t remember the why of it just yet, but I will. I swear, Steve, it was there. This isn’t a new feeling.”

He smiled again. “Good.”

Bucky tugged him back down. They eventually decided to strip the rest of their clothes off and get under the blanket to crash. It was eight in the morning but they hadn’t slept the night before. Well, Bucky had, if you counted Jarvis knocking him unconscious for an hour and a half.

“You owe me a new wardrobe,” he sleepily announced just before they were out for the day. “And a new knife set and two new pistols.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Steve mumbled back.

                                                                                                        ~*~

Bucky dreamt, a rare thing since his Hydra capture, of the War. Not combat, no; what he dreamt of was Steve coming to his tent and laying down with him on his cot. He knew this was a fantasy; not only would they never have dared then, it was the most illogical thing in the world, the two of them fitting on an Army regulation cot together. The dream started innocently enough, just the vague warmth of his embrace as they wove into each other’s space. At some point, it became heated. Even in the dream he felt guilty for pushing against his friend but it felt too good to stop. Hot skin, slick with sweat, pressed against his; hushed moans broke the silence, the fear of being seen heightening every second.  

“Steve,” he called out.

His eyes snapped open at the sound of his own voice, and then widened to find a dream turned reality when he registered Captain Rogers working feverishly between his legs. At his shocked gasp Steve looked up, blue eyes crinkled in amusement, and somehow he managed to smirk with Bucky’s prick still stretching his lips wide.

Christ, those lips.

His head fell back against the pillows with a groan, his hands instinctively reaching up to grasp at Steve’s short hair. He couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, could barely move but for the unstoppable motion of his hips. Nothing should feel this good, the heat of being inside Steve’s mouth, enveloped between tongue and hollowed cheeks, nearly down the back of his throat at times. Apparently, Steve liked that. Whenever Bucky would tilt his hips up against Steve’s downward motion, forcing his prick just a little bit further down, Steve would practically purr. When Steve attempted forcing it himself Bucky arched off the bed with a gasp, Steve’s hair clenched in his fists. He needed to remember his strength, but he couldn’t find the will to remove his hands. He was embarrassingly close to erupting down the back of Steve’s throat; any second he was going to spill and he couldn’t seem to articulate this fact. Maybe the pathetic whimpers clued Steve in, he didn’t know, but he still felt guilty when Steve forced the issue, his tongue bathing the underside of the head with precision strokes. When it happened he yanked his hands away at the last second, and a good thing because he vaguely registered the sound of his hands tearing clean through the sheet and into the mattress.

“Steve,” he keened.

He didn’t even pull off; Steve just kept on sucking him down, taking it all. Bucky was not equipped to deal with this scenario. Was it okay to swallow? He couldn’t remember but he didn’t think so.

Steve crawled up his body and kissed him so hard he might have cut his lip on Bucky teeth. Neither seemed to mind. When he opened to Steve he was immediately infused with his own taste on Steve’s tongue. It shouldn’t have had him grasping at the man, thrusting further and further into his mouth, chasing the taste as it fled, but he’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t.

The Captain graciously pulled back, forehead pressed gently to his own, as they both sucked in precious oxygen.

“Good morning,” he quipped.

Bucky laughed and glanced over at the ratty curtains at the windows. “It’s evening actually.”

“It was the thought that counted.” He smiled down mischievously. His hands ran up both of Bucky’s arms and rested gently against his collar bones.

“A very nice thought.” His arms wrapped tighter around the ridiculous man on top of him and squeezed him tight. He nuzzled at Steve’s throat, nipping gently, simply because he could. “You’ll have to tell me where you learned it.”

Steve pulled back, just enough to give him a mock scowl. “I know what I like,” he drawled. “And the internet is a fine invention.” He brushed his lips across Bucky’s, soft as a spring breeze and whispered, “And there’s something to be said for instinct.”

Bucky smiled, sweet for a moment before turning feral.

He hooked his leg over Steve’s and flipped them. “My instincts are phenomenal. What do you say I try my hand at it?”

“I’d rather you try your mouth at it,” he mumbled to the ceiling as Bucky made his way down. He slapped Steve’s muscular thigh.

“I bet your Avenger friends think you’re America’s Sweetheart. How do you get away with it?”

“What they don’t know won’t hurt ‘em.”

Bucky watched as Steve’s stomach undulated as he skimmed a hand down the V of his hips, tracing the line with a finger. _Amazing_ , he wondered to himself. To think yesterday he hadn’t even thought to want this. It felt like Bucky was no longer a concept he was just barely grasping, but that he’d finally risen to the surface to take his first clean breath of fresh air in seventy years.

That wasn’t to say he wasn’t still a cold blooded opportunist.

He gripped Steve tightly and ran his tongue up his length, wetting him from base to tip. Pleasure ran over his skin and sank deeply into his gut when Steve hissed and fisted the sheets.

“Tell me something,” Bucky quipped cheerfully and ran his fist up and around Steve’s head, watching as his thighs twitched.

He grunted, “What,” in a distracted manner.

“Hawkeye seems to think you and Tony have a certain… chemistry.”

“He what?” Steve looked up, his brow crinkled adorably.

He gave a close-lipped smile. “You know, that you guys flirt with each other.” His hand slowed its twisting up and down motion as Steve gaped in confusion.

“No,” he managed to snap. “God, no. Half the time we can’t stand each other. Do you remember Howard? He’s like Howard-lite but not even -lite, he’s Howard-dark. Sometimes I wanna wring his neck.”

“Sounds familiar,” Bucky remarked.

Steve growled and sat up. He reached out lightning-quick and snatched Bucky around the back of the neck, pulled him forward until he could smash their lips together.

“You listen here, Bucky Barnes,” he snapped, “you are the only one, the most important person in my life, always have been, always will be.”

“What about Peggy?” He whispered, old wounds opening unbidden.

Steve took a breath and rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder. “I love Peggy, I do. She was in a class all by herself. But, as much as I don’t want to admit it, she was runner up, Buck. Because I thought I couldn’t have you. If I’d thought there was even a chance…” He looked up, searching Bucky’s eyes for understanding. “You have to know it would always be you.”

He nodded. “Yeah, okay. I guess I’m feeling a bit sensitive. I like being the one and only.”

Steve’s mouth did something strange and his eyes twitched away for a second.

“What?” Bucky demanded, sensing the other shoe about to drop.

Steve's lips tensed again. He wouldn’t meet Bucky's eyes anymore.

“What, Steve?” He growled.

“All right, all right,” he soothed. “There was… It was your fault, really.” He looked like Bucky was forcing lemon juice onto a paper cut. “Do you remember that summer social at the Britons’ place, back in ’41? You went with Diana Fulton and then skipped out early to park down at the docks, even though you promised you wouldn’t ditch me.”

Bucky searched his memory. An image of a blonde, curly head bobbing in his lap emerged. He smiled in remembrance. “Yeah I remember.”

Steve scowled at him, confidence now straightening his shoulders. “Yeah, well I don’t feel bad for necking with Jamie McMillan in the bathroom then.”

His smile dropped instantly. The image of a sleazy, black haired snake with a constant stream of smoke escaping his smirking face appeared. The creep was always smiling at Bucky, like he knew something Buck didn’t. “I’ll kill him,” he whispered, still wrapped in his own thoughts.

Steve chuckled. “Be kinda hard to pull off. He died of a heart attack back in ’86.”

“I’ll dig up his bones and snap every single one of them,” he growled. “How could you? He was despicable.”

Steve’s eyes dropped in guilt; maybe a bit in sadness too. “He came on to me, and I, it was the first time anyone ever… I don’t know Buck. He was there.” _‘You weren’t’_ floated there between them. Guilt constricted his throat. Steve chuckled. “You’ll be happy to know I had a damn asthma attack and he ditched.”

“I’ll grind his bones to dust and feed them to his children,” he threatened as he wrapped his arms tightly around Steve’s neck.

Steve laughed again. “Please don’t, that’s just wrong.”

Jaime hadn’t deserved the privilege. Bucky didn’t either, but that wasn’t going to stop him from taking advantage. The thought that Steve had been used and then dumped, without Bucky's knowledge, all while he was getting off with some dame whose face he couldn’t even remember… shame burned in his gut. Steve was _his_ responsibility. Little Stevie Rogers. He could still barely reconcile the man whose broad shoulders he was wrapped around when he thought back to that lanky little punk from back then. He remembered the shock of seeing Steve in Italy, the man they’d turned him into and the shame he’d felt at his horror. Part of him had rejoiced; Steve was never going to have another asthma attack ever again, never risk a broken bone putting him down for months, or his poor heart giving at any time. But there was a deeper, hidden part that shriveled up in hateful shame at the idea that Steve no longer needed him; his pal was all grown up and fully able to take care of himself. Able-bodied. Yeah, he surely was. Christ, the first time he’d seen Steve with his uniform off… what a revelation that had been. Like being sucker-punched in the gut.

He leaned back and looked Steve over again, just because he could.       

“What?” Steve chuckled. “You gonna kick my ass in lieu of Jamie McMillian’s?”

“Forget Jamie McMillian,” he snapped. Steve’s eyebrows rose. Bucky ignored it and plowed into Steve, pushing his back down into the mattress with both hands on his biceps. His tongue curled into Steve’s mouth, slick and hot and determined. His thigh wedged itself between Steve’s and rubbed unerringly against his stiffening prick that had lost some of its fervor during their talk. It was a pride he’d never experienced, knowing he was doing that, he was making Steve whine in his throat and tilt up against him.

“Buck,” he gasped, nails digging into his back like a silent benediction.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” He gracefully slid back down and took Steve in hand. It was hard to ignore the hissing and gasping that came from above him; the sounds Steve made were like icing on the cake. It didn’t take long to discover the hang of it, learning when to breathe, how to mind his teeth behind his lips, where to place his tongue, just so, under the crown of his head to make him tilt forward. It was hard work, he had to admit, but he was having the time of his life. He wouldn’t give this up if government officials burst through the door and tried to pry him off.

A wicked idea flitted across his consciousness and he looked up at Steve, gauged how wrecked he was already. He took in the flush of his chest, the way his fist bunched and released the sheets, the constant flow of saliva he seemed to swallow every few seconds, and made a decision. Dames always had one of two reactions to this maneuver, they either moaned and tilted up in invitation or they flinched away in horror. He hoped Steve was the former.

Taking into account the metal of his left hand, he used his right to glide across his sac, down, down and very gently ghosted his knuckle over his hole. Steve didn’t disappoint.

“Yes,” he hissed, placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and digging his nails in sharply.

You couldn’t get much clearer than that. Bucky pulled away for a brief second to suck his fingers into his mouth and then, with his mouth busy with its original task, slicked around his hole, over and over. Steve keened and pushed back, desperate for more. Just seeing how much Steve wanted this had Bucky hard again. Before long he had worked the whole of his index finger inside, and could barely contain his groan at the sensation. Steve was so hot, tight, clenching around him, it was hard not to simply spread his legs wide and dive inside. They weren’t ready for that just yet, but he felt secure in the knowledge that it would happen soon. The thought had him rutting against the mattress. Or Steve doing the same to him, Christ, he could hardly imagine it, the way Steve’s prick was stretching his mouth as it was. But, oh, did he want to try.

“Bucky,” Steve whined above him.

“Mmm,” he hummed in acknowledgment and wickedly crooked his finger just so.

He was rewarded with a sudden intake of breath and then in a rush, “You’re gonna make me come, Buck.”

His stomach dropped in lust at the announcement. He increased suction and, with military precision, found that bundle of nerves again. It was maddening and addicting and heady, the way Steve swelled against his tongue and clenched around his finger. Before long, with something between a whine and a groan, Steve pulsed and emptied down his throat. He swallowed what he could as it came but some lingered after he pulled off, aware of sensitivity. The taste was strange, different than his own but not wholly unpleasant. He pulled his finger loose gently and smiled at the way Steve’s breath hitched.

He panted up at the ceiling, his stomach and chest undulated in a hypnotizing manner. Buck sat up on his knees and languidly stroked himself as he watched Steve come down. In what was perhaps the laziest, self-satisfied jerk in history, he slowly let his orgasm build and until it washed over him like a calm ocean wave. The outcome landed haphazardly on Steve’s left thigh.

“I would have helped,” Steve drawled, eyes still closed, chin still pointed at the ceiling.

“No worries.” He flopped down next to his friend and watched his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. “You wanna get something to eat after this?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve agreed easily. “I want fifteen burgers and a thousand gallons of Coke.”

Bucky smiled at that. “Okay. And then what?”

“Hmm,” Steve hummed and then rolled so they were looking at each other. “What do you want to do?”

He thought about it but honestly found he didn’t mind as long as they were together. He shrugged. “Can we go back to the Tower? I need to apologize to Pepper. I kinda yelled at her just before I left.”

“All right, yeah, we can do that. I wouldn’t mind having a word with Nat either. I get the feeling she had a huge hand in the way this turned out. And I need to talk to Sam… Oh! That reminds me, do you want to come to Poland? I was onto a Hydra facility when Nat called.” He looked down and then blinked shyly up at Buck. “If you want to, you’re under no obligation of course. I know they… that you might not want to deal with them.”

He gripped Steve by the side of his neck and laid a wet kiss to his lips. When he pulled back he whispered, “I’d love to.”

                                                                                                        ~*~

_Later that night in Stark Tower…_

__

Pepper and Nat sat curled up on the sofa in Pepper and Tony’s apartment with a bottle of wine and a plate of fruit.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Pepper announced with a clink of her glass. “Do they know you’re practically running this thing?”

“Hell no,” she chuckled with a sip. “How do you think I get anything done?”

Pepper shook her head with a smile. “You should have seen them. Trying to sneak in like two teenagers, hands barely able to stay off each other, beard burn all over the place.”

“And Clint thinks he’s the Cupid of the group,” Nat stated dryly.

They both snorted.

“I can’t take all the credit though. Jarvis has been helping the whole time,” Nat conceded.

“All in a day’s work, ma’am.”

“What did Jarvis do? Unless the shock is what knocked the sense into Bucky?” Pepper’s lip quirked in unwilling amusement.

“No, that was actually an accident. I didn’t think he’d get that worked up. I also didn’t expect Cap to be so thick-headed and rebuff the poor guy right off.”

“Idiots,” Pepper muttered.

“Jarvis helped with keeping an eye on Bucky for me," she tapped her ear to say they’d been in communication, "and giving me Cap’s ETA so I could time the fight perfectly. He would walk in just as I’d pushed Bucky to anger, you see, that way they’d be all worked up when they saw each other for the first time. It wouldn’t do for them to just tip toe around each other; they had to get the anger out of the way first.”

“Oh, you are diabolical.”

“Yeah, and _that_ part went off without a hitch.” She gulped the last of her wine, set the glass down and picked up an orange slice to suck on. “The hard part was convincing Steve to stay away while I softened Bucky up.”

“How did you manage that anyway? He went from a Terminator to a lovesick puppy in three weeks.”

“It was just a matter of pushing Bucky to the surface, making all his instincts more prominent, rather than the Soldier. A little fighting to put him at ease, a little flirting to remind him of his humanity. Easy peasy.”

“I’m so glad you’re on our side, Nat. You are terrifying.”

“It’s nice to be appreciated,” she admitted with a stretch. “I netted us another super soldier _and_ I got Cap a boyfriend in one swoop.”

“Not just any boyfriend, either, the love of his life, Bucky Barnes,” she sighed. “You deserve an award. I’ll have Tony weld you something.”

“Have it say ‘World’s Greatest Spy/Matchmaker’,” she commanded with a hand in the air.

Tony and Clint walked in then, both looking like they’d seen a ghost. Tony flopped down on the couch, head in Pepper’s lap.

“I heard Cap came back last night. We stopped by his place,” Tony explained as Pepper carded her fingers through his hair. “Don’t go in there. Don’t ever go in there.” He stared off into space.

“That poor couch,” Clint whispered.

Pepper and Nat looked up at each other and laughed hysterically.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first Stucky fic and I'm feeling very nervous about how I did. Please, please, please comment with feedback. I need it to live.  
> Виксена- Vixen For those of you who were curious.  
> Cams- The wheels in Clint's high tension composite bows. For those of us who aren't up on the archery lingo.  
> I also have to shout out to [this playlist](http://8tracks.com/ilvalentinos/symbiosis-i-m-with-you-until-the-end-of-the-line) for giving tons of inspiration.  
> Check out [artisanbloodbank](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/artisanbloodbank) for a further glimpse into the depths of my mind.


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